Worlds Within Words
by Apollo Wings
Summary: from DAFFW, a character swap between myself and EilonwyCousland. Here, I use her characters Melina Amell and Jalyn Surana to explore their friendship, Melina's powers, and the world of Thedas. Set between chapters 2 and 3 of her fic, Collision. I hope you enjoy - and do review! xxx


Author note: Over on the Facebook Dragon Age FanFiction Writers group, I, and a group of authors have decided to allow others to use certain characters, with permission and evaluation of skill.

I'm using the characters Melina Amell and Jalyn Surana by EilonwyCousland QueenofTragedy to write this short story.

Disclaimer: The world, Thedas, is owned by BioWare/EA and the characters - by BioWare/EA and EilonwyCousland both. No monetary reimbursement is expected nor accepted, but reviews are always nice!

~oOo~

~oOo~

She could feel them, each and every emotion in the room. A miasma of pain, humiliation, fear, pride, and every brief fluttering of worry. It coiled inside her, malicious and burning. Melina Amell squeezed her eyes shut, flinging herself on her dormitory bed, burying her face in the lumpy pillow.

She tried to breathe but the air itself felt hot and humid, difficult to suck a meaningful gulp of without strain. It was like bees, buzzing around inside her hear, drowning out all that was herself.

The girl of twelve years tried to steel herself, tried to push them away but it remained insistent. Every calming technique her mentor had shown her seemed paltry at this time.

Even the sound of their voices was a low din to their wild, flailing emotions that so encompassed her.

Suddenly, a thin hand was on the small of her back. Melina twisted around, blinking away hot, foggy water from her eyes in a bid to see clearly. Eventually, the figure formed into one of friendship, cinnamon hair and sarcastic smile. The energy of her warm emotions flooded through Melina, briefly pulling her from the abyss that she'd fallen into.

Slowly, other features in the dormitory took shape. One such thing she noticed was that it was empty apart from them. "Is it happening again?" Jalyn Surana asked, twirling a section of her hair behind a tapered ear. Melina sniffed, bundling into her friend, almost able to hold her own elbows as she wrapped her arms tight around her.

Despite being two years her senior, mages weren't fed well here in the Circle, and because of that, Jalyn was slim, even for an elf. "It just won't stop." She whispered lowly into her shoulder. Jalyn hugged her back gently, rocking her from side to side.

The motion helped none with the overwhelming pain of having so many emotions in her head at once, if anything the rocking made her focus more inwardly at the writhing feeling. But it was comforting. Eventually Jalyn released her, wiping to pads of her thumbs under her eyes. "How you have such chubby cheeks shem, I don't know." She muttered softly. Despite the racial slur, it was in good grace, an affectionate way of speaking that belied the word. "I have a new book. From the senior apprentice library."

Instantly, Melina sat ramrod straight, clenching her fingers tight into fists in her linen robes. It was a highlight of her time with Jalyn, to sit together and read about the world far from this pretty prison as her friend often called it. The elf bent to a satchel propped on the floor, pulling it open much too slowly for the impatience brewing inside her and lifting out a fat tome.

The lettering on the battered spine shone like spun gold, peeling ever so slightly in the burgundy leather. Jalyn let it flop open on her lap, words facing Melina.

"Worlds Away From Our Own. By Brother Genetivi." She read. They jabbed like needles in her forehead, making her feel woozy enough to feel the room spinning.

Jalyn caught her on the arm, holding her upright. "Perhaps I should read this one. Come here."

She lifted the book, holding it aloft as she pat the crumbled expanse of her robes between her legs. Melina shuffled across the single bed, laying with her back to the elf, her messy white-blonde curls cushioning her against the hard collarbones of her friend as her arms cradled around her and the book was placed on her bent knees.

It was a snug feeling, being surrounded from the outside by her friend. Her calm mind spoke louder volumes than all the bustling noise the other apprentices seemed to carry around with them. She put her bony chin on Melina's shoulder, eyes flicking on the words quickly. "It's not much of a story book. But Anders said he could almost _see_ everything with how Brother Genetivi describes things."

~oOo~

The air was cold, so very cold. Melina could almost feel it whispering on her skin, a soft susurration of frigid air. She bundled herself up close, feeling heavy furs and cloak on her back.

The world itself was quite white, brief glimpses of a bruised, grey sky peaked from between snowy ground and bilious clouds stained pale yellow with more snow. In the flurries around her, dark figures approached, some with spears of some sort, others straining with odd bows.

The figures loomed closer, taller than an average man by at least a tenth. Their faces were whipped pink and red by the winds and ice, heavy geometric tattoos on their faces that surely must have been all but unbearable to receive. Especially the woman with ones that covered across her face, over her eyelids. She stumbled back, hitting the ground with a hard thump.

"Lowlander." One of the figures, a man, hissed. She put her hands up, feeling the tension and the fear in the air mounting higher than the winds and cold.

"I'm not your enemy!" She screeched. The strange men and women stopped their advance, lowering their weapons. The woman with the very painful looking tattoo approached. Her face was severe, braids whipping across her face. She extended a hand.

Without thinking, Melina grasped hold, feeling her body being pulled up remarkably easily. The fear and trepidation hung all around her. "Truly? Then why would a lowlander be so far from your cities? In such weather than you would wilt?"

She blinked, her eyelids feeling heavy with frosted flakes of ice. "I think I may be lost then." She said slowly.

"Come with us out of this weather then. You should catch your death of cold." The woman rolled her eyes, silencing what looked to be an argument from one of the men with a raised, stern eyebrow.

"Who are you? All of you?" She asked. The woman looked back at her, as Melina had started to follow after the strange group of warriors.

"We are the Avvar. The hunters of the Odelia Clan. You may call me Thane Marthe."

~oOo~

"I see what Anders means." Jalyn muttered into Melina's hair. Her human friend was in some sort of trance as she read the journal this Brother Genetivi had written. It was incredibly descriptive, like a story but real. Even she could picture the way this human barbarian tribe had found him in a blizzard, could feel the faintest chill.

She looked to her side, at Melina and the way her eyes were closed. Her skin, so pale except for her chubby pink cheeks, was a mottled purple over her eyelids, her eyes twitching beneath the lids, the eyelashes fluttering slightly. Her lips were parted. Jalyn poked her in the back with a thin finger. The younger apprentice stirred suddenly, her golden brown eyes opening in a flash. She was breathing heavily. "And what in the Maker's name was that?" She asked.

The twelve year old furrowed her brows, sucking her bottom lip in thoughtfully. "I could feel it. The whole... bit." She finally said with utmost care over her words. "Come on! Please read some more! It was like being out of the Circle!"

Jalyn shook her head, briefly imagining being able to seek a release so easily. To be outside, even if it was just in her mind. It was enough to cause a twinge of jealousy for this affliction Melina seemed to have. "How about somewhere warmer?" The elf prodded, flipping the thick yellowed pages with care. There were punishments for harming the books.

~oOo~

Melina felt her feet sinking. She panicked, pulling her feet up and stamping in sticky, squelchy mud. The clothes she wore stuck to her with sweat, the air buzzed with small midges. It smelled like the alchemy labs, only much more _green_ of all things.

She blinked at the world around her, the vegetation which marked everything in ivies, and other crawling vines.

There were so many colours, and so much mud! The flowers were heady, in the whitest of whites, like the fallen snow, with droplets of colour which spread like ink from the edge of the petals to the centre where clumps of bright yellow pollen nestled. She peered at the low sun, making the sky a vivid, burn orange and darkening the far structures.

They looked like huts. But on stilts. Huts on stilts. She waded through this sticky, wet mud to get toward them, coming across a village of sorts. She could feel the humming life around her, the new, foreign sights of some charm of some sort hanging from the thatch rafters of these huts, jangling in the wind noisily.

The people of these huts seemed to come out of them slowly, peeked bright eyes that - were yellow? A memory stirred of how the Avvar had yellow hues in their eye colour. Their skin was much darker than her own, a harsh tanned tint. These people too - the adults - were marked with tattoos.

Their tattoos on their faces were like hands creeping up from jaw to eyes, like daubs of paint that were smeared on their skin permanently. It was so savage. Their hair was flecked with feathers braided into the dark browns and blacks, leather and fur straps around their necks like the Tevinter torques the slaves wore.

"Who goes there?" A booming, male voice demanded. Melina gulped, feeling the curious glances on her, a beast of a man came from one of the open hut doors, striding down the wooden steps. He wore some sort of pelt over his head, the teeth of the creature splayed on his forehead as if it was trying to eat his head. The fur was groomed and clean on the beast, but the man himself looked dirty. His shoulders were wide and muscular, and he carried a long stick, gnarled and lined with notches.

A feeling of bravery, foolish or otherwise incensed her. "But a simple traveller, come to look for rest during the night before I continue on my way." She spoke clearly, unfettered by the pounding of her heart.

The man who looked able to break her in two with the barest of effort finished his descent from the hut on stilts. He wore only sandals, and the algae flecked mud squeezed between his bare toes. It caused him no bother as he came up to her. "Who are you to bother the Chasind?" He asked again, this time the full effect of his voice thrumming through her very core.

She could feel his trepidation, as strange as that was when she was so small compared to him. "Brother Genetivi. I mean you no harm Ser." She spoke.

The words felt wrong in her mouth, yet so right. It was the most peculiar of feelings. "A brother of the Chantry? Many of those come through. You will find no converts here." The man grinned in a feral manner, gesturing to a pile of bones, skulls hanging on knotted string above them. Human skulls.

Even from her vantage point, she could see the scrapings on the bones, from teeth or weapon to remove the flesh. It sent a chill down her spine. "I seek no converts. Just a bed for the night out of the elements." Her tone was unwavering, belying the fear she could feel.

The large man laughed. "An outsider with a bit of mettle. Fine, stay the night. But only that." He clapped her on the back, nearly pushing her face first into the mud.

She laughed hesitantly, smarting from the jovial whack. "You know my name, might I know yours?"

"Chieftain Matwau, of the Lundar Clan of Chasind People." The large man boomed.

~oOo~

"That was pleasant." Jalyn crinkled her nose. Cannibals who preyed on Chantry Brothers? How delightful! No wonder this was in the older apprentice section of the library. Melina had been perfectly still against her chest, breathing evenly despite the subject matter.

She jostled her shoulders to shake the other apprentice lightly. She awoke slowly this time, blinking at the dying light. "What's the time, Jalyn?"

"Probably dinner. Are you a hungry, hungry shem?" She asked playfully. Melina twisted her lips into a frown, looking downwards at the book. She brushed the backs of her stubby fingers on the page lovingly.

"But the stories. Please Jalyn. Just one more?" Her eyes were big and pleading. Jalyn had to bite her lip as she looked away. How this little girl twisted her around her little finger!

"Fine. But one more. Then we're going to eat. I heard a rumour about dumplings and even you don't get to keep me from dumplings." She gave Melina a quick tickle up the ribs through her robes before she propped the heavy tome back on her friend's knees.

She giggled sweetly, wriggling until she was comfortable again. The blonde haired girl flipped the pages quickly, hungrily searching for the lovingly painted pictures that were then etched for the book. Soon, she left it open on a picture that made Jalyn's eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

"Really?"

"Yes please." She nodded.

~oOo~

If it was possible, Melina felt as if her skin might just melt off. It was so hot, the air was thick and humid, unbearably so. The leaves in front of her were large, a shiny colour that when she hacked away at them with a curved sword so that she may pass, they left long tendrils of shiny web where the leaves and stems broke to her sword.

She wiped along the flat of the blade, bringing the gathered sticky fluid to her nose. It was strong, vaguely like the cut and dried grasses she'd smelled when brewing potions with her mentor. She wiped her finger off on her shirt, continuing through the dense jungle.

The light was sparse, long shafts from gaps in the canopy high above her. It made the word shades of green and black, and her footing was often unsteady and wet.

The sounds of animals all around her were deafening, croaking frogs and some squeaking creature. It took some time, enough that her limbs were aching with overuse that she broke out from the dense jungle, in awe of the structure in front of her.

It rose like some saint amongst heathens, a tan stone wreathed in thick vines and those dangerous, red leaved weeds that she knew were poison. A strain of deathroot that grew in the broiling heat of Seheron. It was a temple of some sorts, with foreign gods and lettering carved into the stone of the entrance.

From the signs of the jungle growing into it, the structure was long abandoned. Seeking some cool shade away from the most of the foliage and animals, she walked up the crumbled steps, occasionally falling onto her hands and knees as the sun bore down on her.

Her skin was blistered with sunburn over her face as she wiped it, flakes coming off in her hands. She reached for a canteen of water on her hip, greedily gulping back at the lukewarm liquid. It was blessed, restoring her parched throat. But she would need to refill her reserves. From the sound of it, there was a good water supply, running water nearby.

Finally, she reached the top of the steps, the sun beating down in pulsing waves with her heart. She took in a deep breath, looking toward the darkness inside the temple. She shuffled her pack off, searching inside for the lantern. Using the knob on the side she opened up the lyrium source for the magical light. It flickered like a flame before becoming a bright, steady light. She hooked it to her belt, putting her pack back on and moving inside the shade.

It was wonderful out of the sun, and the sound of water was stronger the deeper inside she moved. But with moving, came the odd noise of a language she was unfamiliar with.

She crept slower, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling with the increased volume of the foreign language. Could it be Qunlat?

She took her pack off again as quietly as possible, picking through the inside and trying not to make the metal pots and cutlery from clanking together. She soon found the thin book, flipping it open in the light of her lantern. The words were hard to pick out but she had come to Seheron specifically to find the Qunari and learn of the culture.

Had she?

She must have.

With phrase book in hand and pack back on, she strode with purpose down the dark corridor and closer to the sound of water and voices.

The water room was simple, a gushing water wheel churning up some of the clearest water she'd seen since stepping foot in the country, three of the great ox-men and one of their women drawing earthen jugs from it. Their skin ranged from dull silver to burnished bronze, each with white hair that revealed two curved horns that sat atop their heads like a goats.

They were by no means small people, each at least seven feet in height. Much taller than the Avvar and broader by far than the Chasind. They wore little compared to the Ferelden tribesmen, bands of cloth covering their genitals or breasts, strapped armour on their knees, elbows, and shoulders.

The men each had a weapon of some sort, the woman surprisingly did not. This surprised her as from all she knew, the Kossith were a warmongering race. She held the phrase book out, readying herself to come out into the open. "_Salutations, I am a fraternally related person of the Chantry and would like to imbibe liquids with you._"

It was the exotic, silver skinned woman who stepped up, striding boldly up to her. "I speak Common." She said. "And you may."

That shocked her. She hadn't expected that Kossith here to speak her language. "Thank you. I'm afraid I hadn't met any Qunari in my travels and didn't know what to expect."

She sat on the ledge around the water wheel next to one of the huge horned men, holding her canteen under the stream. It was surely a feat in engineering to have the water so clear. The female tilted her head inquisitively. "We are not Qunari; we are Tal-Vashoth, true grey ones, bereft of the Qun's philosophies."

That shocked her again. She flexed an eyebrow. "Then I also haven't met any Tal-Vashoth, it's a pleasure." The tension in the room seemed to fade away as they continued talking, sharing little intricacies about their cultures.

Such as how in the Qun, despite no longer following it, their swords were so vital to their sense of self. How women were seen as people not to fight, but to be artists, or merchants. Hence why Bahan, as she was named, could speak other languages. It was endlessly fascinating.

They eventually found themselves in the drawing dusk, having talked for so long. Melina felt for her pack, coming up with dry tack and strips of salted beef for her supper. One of the male Kossiths put his great hand up. She remembered that because he had the arrows painted upwards on his face, that he was Arvaarad before he'd left the Qun, his chosen name now being Asken. Unlike the other men, the horn headed man could speak little Common as well as his native tongue.

"No. Share with us." He moved his hands emphatically to mark his words, shaking his head sadly. Melina smiled. It was an experience she had not expected.

~oOo~

Jalyn could smell the stew and dumplings now. From her low seat, Melina reclined into her, she could see up at the high windows, the night sky peeking through the panes, a scattering of bright stars, and a hint of the moon dotted high. She smiled softly, stroking her long, thin fingers over her friend's curly hair.

She looked cherubic really. Asleep and dreaming. Carefully, and with stomach growling for food, she slipped from under her, pulling Melina's woollen blanket and linen cover over her still dressed form. She gently lifted her head and propped her pillow beneath it.

"Sleep well my little shem friend." She whispered, skipping off for dinner.


End file.
